An Idiot's Guide to the Lives of the Saints

John and I were in the half-price bookstore the other day and as I was digging around, I found a book for four bucks on the lives of the Saints. I thought, well, since I'm a Parakeet* for eighth graders this year, I might find some interesting facts to share.

After reading half of it, I'm

A. Wondering if I slept through every CCD class I ever attended in High School and

B. Not sleeping well.

They go through a little Catholic background at the beginning and as this book seems to be written in plain english, rather than the usual runaround I have a hard time deciphering, I was somewhat disheartened to learn that the best that I can hope for is to be purified in the flames of purgatory for a thousand years or so before I get to heaven. That's the best case scenario, since I've disqualified myself for Sainthood and the chances for Martyrdom is slim, despite my own opinion. And the stories of the Saints....well, they're out there, you know what I'm saying? From guys who baptized lions, to women who after being tortured in innumerable ways for their faith, remained miraculously alive torture after horrible torture and finally being killed and carried off to heaven by angels. And I'm torn between throwing the book in the trash can or making a pocket size card of the Prayer to Saint Antony, Patron Saint of Excema.

My Uncle wrote to say how proud he is of us, that of all the kids in the family, my family is the only one who is bringing their kids up in the Church instead of going to the Protestant Church down the street, because they have better snacks. I have a suspicion that they may have something more appealing than just the snacks.

This morning in Church as the "Guest Homilist" started speaking and I realized no matter how hard I tried, I was not going to be able to understand him, I almost started to cry. For the last three years we have had a priest from India. And although we loved him right away, it took us at least a year to truly understand him, and just as we learned the rhythm and cadence of his accent, they sent him somewhere else. Our new priest is from somewhere like Vietnam. He says things like "Let us Prays." During his homilies, you can understand each individual word, but they're like a puzzle. You have to rearrange them and try to put the picture of each sentence together as you go. So when the priest from Mexico, who is a missionary in Angola, tried to explain to us the work they do near Rwanda, I was so totally frustrated, I just wanted to walk out. In fact, I did walk out early. I can't remember the last time I did that.

Let's just say I'm not feeling very fired up for tonight's Faith Formation Class. Luckily, this idiot is only in charge of passing out the M & M's.